


Four Times Jim and Sebastian Spend Christmas Together (And One Time They Don't)

by 221brosiewilde



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Mormor Secret Santa, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/pseuds/221brosiewilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Sebastian, and Christmas over the years. What it says on the tin, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Jim and Sebastian Spend Christmas Together (And One Time They Don't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daemonaraneae](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daemonaraneae).



> This is my mormor secret santa gift for daemonaraneae! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you want to listen to the songs, I've included links to youtube in the story. Happy holidays!   
> *sprinkles fairy dust*  
> *disappears up chimney*

Jim steps out onto the roof, bundled up in his scarf and his heaviest coat. Sebastian turns when he hears the the sound of Jim’s shoes crunch in the icy top layer of the snow. He gives him a brief smile in greeting, then turns back to the scope of his rifle. He almost has a perfect shot.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters under his breath.

The carolers sing on the pavement below, oblivious. [_“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlfHyb397VY)

From this distance, Sebastian can just make out the lyrics. He hums along, distracted, breathes in, out, then slowly squeezes the trigger.

The head of the animatronic reindeer next to one of the carolers shatters, sparks, then catches fire. The carolers scream and finally, _finally_ stop singing.

Sebastian grins, triumphant.

“Having fun?” Jim asks. He grasps a mug in one gloved hand. Steam rises from the top of it, warm and enticing, and Sebastian knows better than to think it’s for him.

“Loads,” he says. He turns back to the carolers who are now talking to the owner of the reindeer, looking worried and confused. It’s hilarious, really. Sebastian laughs and turns back to Jim.

“So letting you open your present early was a good idea, then,” Jim says. He nudges Sebastian’s legs out of the way and sits down on the blanket he’s been been laying on.

Sebastian grunts. “The noise was getting to me,” he says. He twists to get more ammo and starts to reload. “And I considered it a security concern.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Security?”

“Of course.” Sebastian nods. “It was only a matter of time until they made it to our door.”

Jim snorts. “You’re taking your job seriously. I don’t think carolers can be considered a threat, darling.”

“Obviously.” Sebastian grins and takes aim again. “I was talking about us. Any requests?”

Jim laughs, delighted, and leans forward. He takes the binoculars from around Sebastian’s neck, nearly choking him in the process. He searches for a moment, then points.   
“There,” he says. “Get that one’s santa hat. It’s offensive.” Sebastian agrees. It’s covered in sequins and the white fluff looks like it’s molting.

“Excellent. I’m going to shoot off the pom pom,” Sebastian says. He shifts a bit, gets  comfortable, then takes aim again. He concentrates on his breathing, relaxes, depresses the trigger. The pom pom explodes in a spray of white, covering the carolers like a snow flurry. They scream again and after some worried conversation, finally disperse.

Jim howls with laughter and puts the binoculars down. His cheeks are red from the cold and his lips are slightly chapped, but he looks positively gleeful and Sebastian bets he tastes like Earl Grey. Sebastian grins and clicks on the safety. He pulls Jim down to him by his scarf and kisses him, biting playfully at his lip.

Jim hums the rest of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen against Sebastian’s mouth and laughs as they fall backwards into the snow.

***

[ _“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me; been an awful good girl, Santa baby-”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7T0IK99ELs)

Jim slams his hand down onto the phone, nearly knocking it off the table in the process, but blessedly silencing the noise. He pulls his arm back under the blankets and scoots closer to Sebastian, curling up against him.

“Important call, was it?” Sebastian asks, voice rough with sleep.

Jim groans and buries his face in his pillow. “Nothing’s important enough to warrant a call at the arse crack of dawn.”   

Sebastian marvels at Jim’s ability to sound so threatening so early in the morning and tightens his hold on his waist.

The cabin is quiet, though that’s to be expected in the middle... Well, Sebastian _thinks_ they’re in Canada. He’s still not quite sure. Jim had just told him to pack and bring his passport. It had seemed odd to take a holiday in the middle of December, especially when they were so busy, and _especially_ when the crowds at the airport would be hell.

But perhaps it was smart to lay low after blowing up all of the MI-5 safe houses.

“What time is it anyway?”

Jim waves his hand at the phone and Sebastian rolls his eyes. Usually Jim is the most annoying kind of morning person - too chipper and talkative - but he doesn’t do well under the influence of jetlag.

Sebastian leans over him and checks the time. The display reads eight in the morning, which normally isn’t early for them, but under the circumstances feels incredibly too soon to be awake.

He groans and flops back on the bed. Outside, the wind howls, making the wood of the cabin creak. The sunlight coming in through the window is a little too bright shining off the snow, but it picks up the lighter shades of Jim’s hair, so Sebastian thinks he can live with it.

He closes his eyes and presses a kiss to the back of Jim’s neck. In response, Jim moves a little closer to him, fitting his arse snug against Sebastian’s hips, and oh.

Sebastian grunts. “Good morning to you too.”

“What?” Jim turns his head and looks at Sebastian, one eye open. His hair is ruffled. It’s rare to see Jim so disheveled, so weirdly vulnerable. It’s adorable, really.

Sebastian fights back a smile. He rolls his hips against Jim’s arse and slides a hand under his shirt. “Sex,” he says. He flicks his tongue against Jim’s earlobe. “We should have sex.”

“Ah.” Jim bites his lip and plops his head back down on the pillow. He considers for a moment, the shrugs. “Well get on with it, then. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sebastian lets out a breath of laughter against Jim’s neck and moves his hand over Jim’s stomach, into his pants. He grasps his cock loosely, smirking when he finds that he’s already half hard. “Very romantic,” he murmurs. “Happy Christmas to me.”

“Your Christmas present this year is not rotting away in a government dungeon,” Jim says. His hips twitch into Sebastian’s hand. There’s a slight hitch in his breath that wasn’t there before and Sebastian feels a little smug about it. “You should be grateful you get sex, too. Get the lube.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Sebastian hums. He mouths along the line of Jim’s neck, sucking a small mark on his shoulder. He turns to look for the lube they’d left in the nightstand before they’d gone to bed and grabs it. He takes his hand off of Jim’s cock, ignoring his quiet noise of protest, and slicks his fingers. “Allow me to demonstrate my gratitude.”

“Demonstrate away,” Jim says. “I’m sure you’ll be very- fuck.”

Sebastian twists the finger he’s worked into Jim and pulls his most innocent face. “‘Very fuck?’”

“Very solicitous,” Jim gasps. He grips the sheets and closes his eyes. “Just...god, just get on with it.”

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian smiles wryly and twists his finger again. He pushes his own pants down and grinds against Jim’s thigh, cursing under his breath.

“Not going to go off before the fun starts, are you?” Jim asks. His voice still has that rough, sleepy quality to it, as if he’s still not fully awake. It’s insanely attractive.

Sebastian crooks his finger, purposely rubs against Jim’s prostate. The sound Jim makes in response is filthy. Sebastian grins.

“No,” he says. “Are you?”  
“Fuck off,” Jim gasps. “Just get on with it. I’m…” He trails off, groaning as Sebastian tucks another finger inside of him.

“You’re…?” Sebastian scissors his fingers. He’s barely concentrating on the conversation at this point. Jim is warm and relaxed and open around his fingers and it’s the farthest they’ve gone in a while. It’s distracting.

Jim bats his hand away. “I’m ready.” He purposely clenches around Sebastian’s fingers and Sebastian has to stop moving his hips. _God._

“I can see that,” Sebastian breathes. He takes his fingers out, a little too fast if Jim’s hiss is anything to go by, and grips his hips. He reaches down and lines himself up, preparing to go slow, but Jim groans and pushes back. He slides onto Sebastian’s cock in one slow movement.

Sebastian moans and digs his nails into Jim’s hips, stilling him.

“Need a moment?” Jim asks, smug. Sebastian can hear the grin in his voice. It’s maddening.

“Yes.” Sebastian wraps his hand around Jim’s cock. He brushes his thumb over the head, spreading the precome, and uses it to smooth his stroke. Jim makes a choked noise and his hips buck. Sebastian lets out a breathless laugh. “Do _you_? I mean, I could always slow down if it’s too much to-”

Jim rolls his hips back in a tight circle, grinding against Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian’s hand stills.

“Finish that sentence,” Jim says in a tight voice. “And I’ll have you castrated.”

“Noted.” Sebastian takes a deep breath, pulls back, then pushes in again. Jim makes a punched out noise and reaches back. His hand scrambles at Sebastian’s side until it finds his waist. He digs his nails in when Sebastian thrusts in again, and turns his head.

His eyes are heavy lidded, lips red and bitten, and Sebastian can’t resist leaning in to kiss him.

He slows down after the first few thrusts, enjoying the noises he can wring out of Jim. Everything feels calm and lazy in the morning light. The sheets are soft and cool compared to the heat building between them, but Sebastian doesn’t feel any urgency. For once Jim isn’t tense or hurried. He doesn’t try to take control. He lets Sebastian choose the pace and breathes out quiet noises against his mouth.

Sebastian thrusts in hard, unable to help himself, and gasps. He holds still for a second, close. Jim brushes his thumb along one of Sebastian’s ribs.

“Are you-”

“Yeah.”

Jim nips Sebastian’s bottom lip, smirks. “Go on then.”

Sebastian comes. He curses and grips Jim’s hips hard enough to bruise as he shakes through his orgasm, lost in the feeling of Jim’s warmth, the tightness of his body. Jim lets out a quiet laugh.

“It never ceases to amaze me,” he murmurs and Sebastian feels a thumb brush over his mouth. He opens his eyes. Jim looks thoughtful, even though he’s panting and flushed, his cock so hard it has to be painful. How does he _talk_ when he’s like this?

Sebastian blinks. “What does?” He pulls out carefully, liking the hitch in Jim’s breath, and moves over him. He kisses his way down Jim’s chest, over his stomach. He pauses to flick his tongue over a nipple, teasing, but Jim grabs a fistful of his hair and pushes him down. Not quite so patient then. Right.

“Nothing,” he says. “Now get to it, darling.”

Sebastian scowls, but does as he’s told. He presses a kiss to the tip of Jim’s cock, earning another noise of warning, before swallowing him down in one smooth motion.

Jim’s hand tightens in his hair. His fingers dig into Sebastian’s scalp painfully, but then he’s coming. His back arches and he moans. Sebastian looks up in time to watch his face - teeth buried in his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut - and smirks. He swallows, licks Jim’s cock until he’s twitching with oversensitivity, then slides back up. He rests his weight on his forearms and lets out a hum of contentment when Jim leans up for an artless kiss.

“Still tired?” Sebastian asks.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says. He puts a hand on Sebastian’s chest and pushes. “Now get off. You’re all sweaty.”

“So are you,” Sebastian grumbles. He considers staying on top of Jim, just to watch him struggle, but he doesn’t. He rolls off of him and scrubs his hands over his face. _Fuck_ jetlag. He sighs. “Do you want me to make breakfast? I’m sure I could find something-”

“Seb.” Jim turns over and throws the blankets over the two of them. He buries his face in Sebastian’s shoulder and somehow manages to look murderous and well fucked. It’s quite the feat. “If you so much as think about moving for the next three hours, you won’t be able to eat anything for a week. Am I clear?”

Sebastian laughs. He pulls the blankets more securely over them and watches as Jim fights to keep his eyes open, still waiting for an answer.

“Crystal,” he says and watches the snow fall outside.

***

Jim is raging. “You are so bloody _stupid_ sometimes. I don’t know how you even got through the army at all, let alone became an officer. You can’t just-”

“Do what I’m paid to do?” Sebastian suggests. Jim’s glare, which Sebastian is sure could spoil milk, somehow becomes angrier. He purposely shoves the needle in harder than necessary, and Sebastian curses.

“You’re paid to do what I say.” Jim pulls the needle and thread through one last time, tightens it, then ties it off. He reaches behind him, then holds a bottle of vodka out to Sebastian. “Drink.”

Sebastian takes the bottle and tips his head back as he drinks. It’s a bad idea. The mix of pain and blood loss makes his head swim and he nearly loses his balance on the edge of the bathtub. Jim’s hand shoots out to steady him before he can fall and he swallows with a grimace.   
“Thanks,” he says. The alcohol burns in his throat, but it’s got nothing on the bullet graze on his shoulder. He raises the bottle to take another swig, but barely gets anything in his mouth before Jim snatches it away again. “Hey, I was-”

Jim straddles his lap. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says darkly, then tips the bottle onto Sebastian’s stitches.

Sebastian shouts. His vision blurs. Pain flares in his shoulder and he grips the edge of the bathtub so hard he’s afraid he might break his fingers, but it’s over almost as soon as it started. Jim leans back to place the bottle on the floor, then grips Sebastian’s face. Instinctively, Sebastian tries to wrench free, but he’s trapped. He could either fall back into the tub which would only mean more pain, or he could stay where he is, with Jim keeping their weight balanced, and that’s no better. He’s in pain and he’s trapped and there’s no where to go and there’s nothing except desert and blue sky and-

Jim slaps him. Hard.

“Sebastian,” Jim barks, and it’s enough to bring him back to the present. He blinks and Jim smiles. “There you are.”

Sebastian swallows. It’s probably just the dregs of the panic attack (and the pain and the alcohol) but Jim’s eyes look like they go back forever, deep and black. It’s oddly grounding. It gives him something to hold onto.

“Now listen to me, darling,” Jim purrs. It’s a dangerous sound, deceptive. Jim’s fingers are still tight on his face. “The next time you decide to completely fuck the plan, run it by me first, hm?”

Sebastian studies Jim’s face. There’s anger, yes, that’s clear enough, but there’s something else too.

“Am I understood, Sebastian?” Jim digs his nails into Sebastian’s cheek. His hands shake.

Sebastian understands.

He reaches up and touches his fingertips to the inside of Jim’s wrist, then turns his face into Jim’s palm.

“Yes,” Sebastian says. He closes his eyes and speaks against Jim’s hand, willing the words to sink beneath his skin. “Of course.”

A moment of silence, then finally, Jim sighs. The angry tension in his shoulders lessens and he pulls Sebastian against his chest. It shouldn’t feel like absolution, but it does, and Sebastian sinks beneath the weight of it. Jim is warm and Sebastian wants to drown in his presence.

Too soon, Jim pulls back. He pries his fingers away from Sebastian’s face and reaches up to smooth his hair.

“The next time you decide to nearly take a bullet for me,” he says. “Don’t.”

Sebastian laughs, because there’s no way he’s ever going to promise that. “Consider it your Christmas present,” he says with a laugh.

Jim rolls his eyes and stands. He holds out his hand and Sebastian takes it. “My Christmas present is going to be having you on bed rest for the next few days,” he says. He stands on his toes and nips Sebastian’s earlobe. “Doctor’s orders. Now get washed up. You smell like blood. It’s disgusting.”

He walks away and Sebastian stays standing in the bathroom. There’s something in Jim’s voice that he doesn’t like, something twisty and not easily navigated, but he knows that if he brings it up, he’ll only be met with mocking. The last thing he wants right now is a fight.

He sighs and undresses as carefully as possible. For a moment, he considers asking Jim for help, but decides against it. All that’s left to take off are his pants anyway, and even with one arm lacking mobility, those are easy to do.

He turns the water on, waits for it to get hot, then steps in. He makes sure the water doesn’t touch his stitches and idly makes a note to put some gauze over them later. All he can concentrate on is how good the water feels. The heat relaxes him. It undoes the knots in his muscles that the pain put there and leaves him feeling dazed. It feels like hours before he even touches his soap, and then an eternity passes while he rinses off.

When he steps out of the shower, he can hear music playing in the living room, something soft and melancholy. It’s not unusual for Jim to play music after a job - it helps him unwind - but it is unusual for him to be so quiet. Sebastian throws on the first pair of sweatpants he can find, not bothering with a shirt, and walks back into the living room.

Judy Garland is singing on the radio. Sebastian can’t tell if it’s just a one off Christmas song or if Jim actually put on the radio for once. Either way it’s calming. There’s something about the pain in her voice that Sebastian’s always liked. It’s there, even when she’s singing something upbeat, as if she knows the happiness won’t last long.

Jim is standing by the breakfast bar, reading something on his laptop. There’s a bottle of scotch and two glasses next to him, resting there like an invitation, and Sebastian can’t resist. He walks over and puts his hands on Jim’s waist. He presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“I thought I said ‘bed rest,’” Jim mutters. His finger taps the arrow key on his laptop angrily as he scrolls down.

“You told me to shower,” Sebastian says. “You didn’t say bed.”

“I didn’t realize I had to be explicit.”

“Jim-”  
“I’m not going to talk about it if that’s what you’re after,” Jim says. He closes the lid of his laptop suddenly. For a second, Sebastian thinks that he’s going to turn around and walk off, but he doesn’t. He leans back, lets Sebastian take his weight. It feels like a trust exercise, one of the stupid ones they had to do in training camp, but Sebastian doesn’t mind. He tightens his grip on Jim’s waist.

“I’m not after anything,” he says, which is just barely a lie. He sways slightly and closes his eyes, listening to the music. He doesn’t mention the two glasses of scotch. He doesn’t feel like calling Jim on his bluff. “I didn’t know you liked Judy Garland.”

“There are people who don’t?” Jim turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Sebastian and Sebastian responds by leaning in to kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Good point.”

Jim has finally given in to Sebastian’s swaying. It’s nice; close and easy and quiet in a way they rarely are. Jim smells nice; like his expensive, poncy brand of shampoo and scotch. Suddenly craving, Sebastian buries his face in Jim’s hair and breathes in, content.

“We should get some sleep,” Jim murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like he means it. “Instead of standing here just... What are we doing, exactly?”

“We’re not standing,” Sebastian says. He kisses the side of Jim’s neck and pulls him closer. The fabric of Jim’s suit slides nicely against his chest and he can feel the heat of Jim’s skin under his clothes. It contrasts with the chill that always permeates the flat and raises goosebumps on Sebastian’s arms. He kisses a different spot on Jim’s neck and smirks. “We’re dancing.”

“You’re snogging my neck.”

“ _Dancing_ ,” Sebastian insists. He pulls Jim’s arm away from the counter and turns him around. He grips Jim’s waist, then reaches for his hand, bringing it up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “See?” He resumes swaying.

Jim doesn’t look amused, but he’s slowly giving in. “You’ll pull your stitches if you’re not careful.” There’s care in his voice. It’s indirect, but it’s there. Sebastian’s learned how to find it over the years.

“I nearly took a bullet for you,” he says. “I think I can handle this.”

Jim wrenches away suddenly and Sebastian winces as the movement pulls at his stitches. “Ow, what-”

Jim shoves him back, hard. Sebastian barely has time to react before Jim has him pressed against the wall. He puts his hands up instinctively, but Jim doesn’t even notice. He grabs a fistful of Sebastian’s hair and pulls him in for a hard kiss, biting down on Sebastian’s bottom lip with so much force Sebastian’s surprised he doesn’t break the skin. He does his best to keep up, to try to control the kiss somehow, but it doesn’t work. He gives in. Jim kisses him, hard and hungry, and so full of _need_. It’s not something Sebastian’s ever experienced before and it’s enough to make his knees buckle.   

Jim pulls back finally, with a reluctant twist of his head. He leans his forehead against Sebastian’s. He closes his eyes.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice somehow steady, if a little hoarse. “ _Don’t_.”

Judy Garland’s voice floats around them, soft and sweet. “[ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas…_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxxTHzERTsk)”

Sebastian doesn't have to ask.

***

There are moments, Sebastian thinks as he watches Jim nod off against his laptop, when everything seems so utterly right with the world that it’s hard to imagine only a few hours earlier he’d been elbow deep in a man’s stomach while Jim stood by and laughed.

Outside the flat, snow is falling, tucking London away under a white blanket. It’ll be pretty for a few hours, like a Dickensian Christmas card, until the Christmas traffic turns everything to black slush. London never stays clean for very long. Sebastian knows that better than anyone.

He looks up from his book and lets out a sigh.

Jim’s eyes are closed. His chin is resting neatly on his chest and his hands are still curled over his keyboard, mid-word most likely. It’s a reassuring sight, and if Sebastian were the kind of sap who believed in such things, he’d call it a Christmas miracle. Fortunately, he knows better.

He gets up from his chair and slides over to the couch. As gently as he can, he pulls the laptop away from Jim and sets it on the coffee table. The lid closes with a too-loud snick and he stops. He looks at Jim.

Jim’s eyes snap open. His gaze lands on Sebastian. He squints. “How long have I been out?” he asks, voice slurred with sleep. It’s a testament to just how tired he is; Jim is usually most alert after he’s just woken up. The fact that he’s still slurring and bleary means that he really _shouldn’t_ be awake right now.

“Not even a minute,” Sebastian says. He plops down on the couch next to Jim and opens his book again. He’d been banished to the armchair while Jim was working, but Jim is always more lenient when he’s sleepy. Sebastian makes himself comfortable.

“I should really…” Jim’s eyes stray to his laptop, considering, and Sebastian nudges him with his foot.

“Whatever you were doing will be there tomorrow,” he says. He slips one finger in his book so he won’t forget his page, and pulls Jim over to him with his other hand. He shifts until Jim’s head is resting on his chest, then pulls the blanket that sits on the back of the couch over them. “And it’s Christmas Eve. I’m pretty sure even the worst criminals are taking a holiday.”

“I _am_ the worst,” Jim grumbles, though he does press his face a little deeper into Sebastian’s sweater, the same way he does with his pillows right before he drops off.

Sebastian smiles and slides his fingers into Jim’s hair. “Yes, you are,” he says quietly as he opens his book again. “Now shush. Or Santa won’t come tonight.”

Jim snorts. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re patronizing me.”

“Not patronizing,” Sebastian says, still smiling. “Just stating facts.”

Jim smirks, and Sebastian can feel it burn a hole through his shirt. “Pretty sure I’m on the naughty list, anyway,” Jim says. He walks his fingers over Sebastian’s stomach and then down, across the button of his jeans, and over his zipper. “I’ve been very, _very_ ba-”

“I’m not going to fuck you just so you can wake up,” Sebastian says, not even looking up from his book.

Jim lets out a growl of frustration and drops his hand back to Sebastian’s stomach, harder than is necessary. “Fine,” he says, and a glance lets Sebastian know that he’s finally closed his eyes again. “But if I miss that meeting tomorrow because you let me sleep, I’m going to be very put out.”

“I’ll set an alarm then, shall I? And who holds meetings on _Christmas_ , anyway? I think that’s taking the whole supervillain thing a bit far.”

“Sherlock Holmes, darling. I’ve a reputation to ruin,” Jim reminds him. Sebastian scowls and opens his mouth to reply, but Jim is too fast. “What are you reading, by the way?” He shifts to get a look at the cover and Sebastian lets it go for now. Even if Jim doesn’t care, it is Christmas, after all.

He turns the book around to show him the cover. “Wuthering Heights.”

Jim shoots him a look. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Sebastian sighs and pulls the book back towards him. “I like the Bronte’s at Christmas. They set the mood.”

“You know sometimes it’s painfully obvious that you grew up an aristocrat,” Jim says around a yawn. “You’ll have to work on that, dear.”

Sebastian laughs. “What? There’s ghosts and snowy moors and romance. I don’t see how it’s any worse than Dickens.”

“No, they’re on the same level I think,” Jim says, getting comfortable again. “They’re both terrible.”

It’s times like these Sebastian remembers that Jim is very severely left brained. It’s a bit painful.

He rolls his eyes and shifts down a little so he can have more of the blanket, then tugs at a piece of Jim’s hair, earning an annoyed grunt. “You’re obviously too tired to function so I’ll let that slide,” he says. He opens the book again and skims the page for where he left off. “And anyway, Cathy just died. It gets a bit boring after that.”

Jim stills. “Cathy _dies_?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says. His eyes drift across the page and over to Jim again. “You didn’t know that?”

“Obviously.” Jim glances up at Sebastian. From this angle he looks especially innocent, something about the way his eyes are heavy lidded and the relaxed turn of his mouth. It’s painfully endearing, even though it’s only because he hasn’t slept in three days. “Read it to me.”

Sebastian lets out a quiet laugh of disbelief. “Seriously? It’s a bit...melodramatic.”

“Hm, don’t care,” Jim says, finally closing his eyes. “I’d rather not fall asleep to the sound of you turning pages.”

It’s a not quite a lie, but Jim isn’t being honest either. “You mean you’re afraid the silence is going to drive you insane.”

“Seb,” Jim says, sharply. “Read the damn book.”

“Fine.” Seb sighs and goes back to his page. He finds the last line he’d read and starts there. “‘May she wake in torment!’ he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. ‘Why, she’s a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there—not in heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens.’” Sebastian stops and glances down at Jim. He’d expected some kind of reaction, some comment by now, but Jim stays silent. His breathing is the only sign that he’s not asleep - it’s not quite shallow enough yet.

“Go on,” Jim says, though he doesn’t open his eyes this time. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

“Right.” Sebastian finds his place again, tries not to think of Heathcliff on the moor alone, and fails. He clears his throat. “‘...may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’” He stops again and glances down at Jim. This time, his breathing is even enough. The tension he usually carries when he’s awake isn’t there anymore. He’s peaceful.

Sebastian looks out the window and watches the snow suffocate their city.

***

London is freezing and this year it doesn’t even have the excuse of impending snow. Sebastian walks out of the pub just as the crowd starts belting the first verse of [Fairytale of New York](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pv0hlbWpa1w). He pulls his scarf a little tighter around his neck.

“The first Christmas is usually the hardest, isn’t it?” Sophy had said to him when he’d stopped by her place earlier that evening. She’d lit a cigarette and studied him from the corner of her eye. “I mean that’s what they say. The holidays are the worst for mourners.”

Sebastian had scoffed, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of being right, but it was true. The holidays bring back memories, ones that he doesn’t particularly want to dwell on.

He takes a few steps into the night, tipsy and bitter, but glad for the warmth of the alcohol running through his veins. The wind scratches at his face and he’s reminded that it’s been a while since he’s shaved. A year ago he’d never let something like that slip. He can picture Jim rubbing his hand on his face and telling him he looks homeless. He hadn’t realized how many things he did only because they made Jim happy.

Someone brushes past him a little too hard and Sebastian catches their hand just before it slips into his pocket.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, mate,” he says. The man turns and Sebastian sees him cock his arm back for a punch. It’s a rookie mistake, but he takes the hit anyway. Nothing like a spot of violence to liven up the night. It feels good after months of doing nothing but sitting and drinking in the flat.

The blood in his mouth is salty and he grins, feral, watching as the man’s eyes widen in fear. He takes a step towards him and has him against the wall of the alley the next second. On the other side of the wall, the pub patrons are still going strong. The sing-a-long has devolved into mostly drunken roaring, though Sebastian can hear the verses with the curse words clearly.

_“You’re a bum, you’re a punk!”_

_“You’re an old slut on junk!”_

The man holds up his hands, tries to ward Sebastian off. Sebastian slams him back against the wall, watches as his head snaps into the brick. He does it again, then again, and once more for good measure. It’s gratuitous but it’s the most alive he’s felt in months. Adrenaline sings in his veins, clouding his mind until he finally pulls away.

The man crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The door to the pub opens, casting artificial yellow light into the alley for a brief second. It shines onto the pavement, catching the red seeping into the cracks, the bloody mess of the back of the man’s head, which is entirely too reminiscent of-

Sebastian stumbles to the other end of the alley way just in time for the bile to climb up his throat. It’s too much. It’s cold and he’s shaking and his knuckles hurt and he’s so tired of being in pain.

Get it together, Moran.

_“I could have been someone.”_

_“Well so could anyone.”_

He catches his breath and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Judging by the sudden scraping of chairs and women screaming, a fight has broken out. For a second, Sebastian considers going back in and joining them.

There’s blood on his hands.

_“You took my dreams from me when I first found you.”_

_“I kept them with me, babe. I put them with my own. Can’t make it out alone. I built my dreams around you.”_

He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks out of the alley way. People are spilling out of the pub now - laughing, kissing, being loud. He pushes his way through the crush of bodies, moving to his next location.

The street in front of St. Barts is deserted tonight, not even an ambulance in sight. It’s a marked difference from the last time Sebastian was here.

He refuses to look up at the roof. Instead he looks up at the stars. They’re bright, which is rare for London, but it’s one of the things Jim cherished about clear winter nights.

“Let’s see then...” Sebastian mutters to himself, remembering.

Orion is the easiest to point out, after that it’s the big dipper and the little dipper, then it’s Sirius and Betelgeuse, and then...

Sebastian leans against the wall of the hospital and lights a cigarette.

And then he can’t remember anymore. Jim had known all of the names. He’d rattle them off on nights like this but after the first few, Sebastian would tune him out. Stars were stars, they didn’t serve any purpose then and they don’t now. Stars didn’t stop Jim from putting a gun in his mouth.

His alarm beeps, loud and echoing in the night, and Sebastian shuts it off with an impatient flick of his wrist. Midnight.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales, watching as the smoke curls in the darkness, then fades.

“Happy Christmas, you bastard,” he murmurs. He closes his eyes, turns his head into the next gust of wind that blows down the street. “Happy Christmas.”


End file.
